


Side Effects of Being a Prophet

by Griffy (honklust)



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Emetophilia, Eros Billy, Gen, Thanatos Pete, prophecies about dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24646408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honklust/pseuds/Griffy
Summary: This is just a short little thing I wrote for Twitter where Thanatos!Pete pukes on himself. Godspeed.
Kudos: 9





	Side Effects of Being a Prophet

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated as always, thanks for reading. For more weird shit follow my twitter @bogslimes

“YOU CANNOT ESCAPE. THE SHROUD OF DEATH IS UPON US. WE CANNOT RUN. WE CANNOT HIDE. WE ARE ALL BORN TO SUCCUMB TO DARKNESS.”   
  
Thanatos was trembling a foot or two in the air, his fingers curled into claws, the whites of his eyes swallowed by inky darkness. There was something so inherently inhuman about him in moments like this. Moments where his disguise slipped, where Rusty’s dread overtook him. His skin faded to near translucent, the shadows under his eyes grown darker, more gaunt.

He lifted a pale hand to his face, digging his blunt nails into his cheek, fresh back ichor spilling from the points of impact, running in thick rivulets down and down and down until it dripped onto the black of his cloak.

Eros watched on quietly. He’d seen this a thousand times - he just needed to give the man some time, some space, watch him as this fit overtook him. It  _ did  _ look pretty cool, even if he didn’t really see the point. Some people were so obsessed with mortality, honestly.

Thantos snapped his head backwards, white hair flowing in the whirlwind around him, the veins in his neck standing out dark-blue beneath a veneer of white. “WE ARE DOOMED. WE ROT IN THE SILENCE OF THE EARTH, DEATH CLAIMS US EARLY, EVERY WAKING MOMENT IS ANOTHER STEP TOWAR--”

He cut himself off with a low, gurgly sound, followed by a particularly wet sounding hiccup. He clapped a hand over his lips, bony fingers trembling, dark eyes wide and searching,  _ searching-- _

And then another hiccup, his shoulders lifting, his whole body folding forward, inward, as a rush of fluid spilled past his lips. He caught most of it in his hand - thicker than the liquid already staining his skin - dark as pitch, dripping in clots down his wrist, winding around the pale curve of his forearm to drip onto the floor.

He let out an uncomfortable sob, his brows furrowing, eyes squeezed shut as another wave of nausea overtook him - the power of the inevitable prophecies in his head making him ill. 

Eros helpfully stepped aside as he vomited once more, spilling mouthfuls of thick black globs onto the metal at his feet. His chest was heaving, his stomach rolling over as he shuddered and tried to recover.

“Eugh-” He finally managed, breathing hard, his chin stained with goo, his whole left arm soaked, his cloak ruined. “I hate when that happens…”

“Yeah, me too.” Eros replied dryly, floating up to pat him gingerly on the shoulder.


End file.
